


Scenes from a Brooklyn bakery

by Em_Jaye



Series: Good Madness [20]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Angst, Darcy Lewis is Tony Stark's Daughter, F/M, Family Feels, Feels, Fluff, Gen, Parent Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 06:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18115385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_Jaye/pseuds/Em_Jaye
Summary: They didn't call Raina Lewis the Queen for nothing...





	1. 1984

**Author's Note:**

> Oh haiii. I needed this off my chest.
> 
> It's a companion piece to the whole Good Madness series, which I strongly recommend you read (if not the ENTIRE series because like, I know guys. It's a lot) at least the first one, Kinda Magical. It pretty gives you all the context you need.

_1984_

 

Raina Lewis checked the narrow watch face on her wrist and sighed heavily. She didn’t need to; she knew what time it was. It was three minutes from the last time she’d looked, thirty-three minutes past closing time, and at least fifteen minutes past how long she had intended or needed to be there. She wasn’t in the mood for this tonight. Not after a fourteen-hour day, a handful of rude customers, and a bill for the repair of a refrigerator that was three times what she had budgeted for.

She hadn’t noticed him at first—not after he bought a tart and a triple-shot latte and retreated to a corner of the dining room. It wasn’t until Selma had popped in right before closing to pick up her quarterly reports for the taxes that she’d realized he was still there.

Only instead of the studying he had so obviously set out to do, he was asleep. On his books. In her café.

“Lost your smile, bright eyes,” Selma had commented, not unkindly. “Bad day?”

She’d wrinkled her nose and nodded. “Ready to go to bed.” She’d spared a glance at the mop of dark brown hair that rested in her last customer’s arms.

“Want me to kick him out?” Selma had asked with a lift of a thin eyebrow.

Raina had rolled her eyes then and waved her sister away. “I’m sure he’ll be gone in a minute,” she’d said. “I’ll get rid of him if he’s still here when I’m done cleaning.”

She hadn’t expected he would be. She made no effort to be quiet while she pulled up all the chairs around him and swept the floor. She didn’t care that the cash register made a jarring ring and crashing sound when she opened and closed it to take it back to the office. She figured any of these sounds would be enough to rouse this sleepy young man and let him sheepishly pack up his things and sneak out under the partially closed gate before she had to ask him to leave.

And yet.

Raina looked at her watch once more out of habit and pushed her bandana up and off her head, letting her hair free as she approached the corner table.

She cleared her throat and knocked the table with her knee, relieved when he stirred and let out a groan of displeasure. “Hey,” she said, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. “Honey. You sick or something?”

He looked up, wide brown eyes squinting in confusion while a lock of his unruly dark hair curled across his forehead. He swiped a hand over his face and wrinkled his nose as he blinked the world back into focus. “What?”

He was cute, Raina decided, in a way she hadn’t noticed when she’d rung him up earlier. He had a kind of puppy-dog face that she probably would have found a lot more endearing if she wasn’t having to kick him out of her bakery so she could go home.

“I asked if you were okay,” she repeated with a little more annunciation than she probably needed.

He twisted his face again. “I’m fine,” he said, defensively. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’re sleeping in a public place,” she said plainly and crossed her arms over her chest. “ _My_ public place; and since you don’t exactly look homeless, you need to get up and get out of here so I can go home.”

He only looked more confused as he rubbed his eyes like a little kid. “Are you saying if I was homeless, you’d let me stay?”

“No,” she replied. “I’d call someone to escort you to a shelter. Either way, you need to leave. I’m tired and I want to go home.”

He focused on the heavy digital watch on his wrist and squinted at the time. “Jesus,” he murmured and—to Raina’s relief—started gathering his things. “Sorry,” he said under his breath. “I’ve been up for like, thirty-six hours studying for midterms.”

She looked at the wall clock. “More like thirty-four and a half,” she quipped as he stuffed the last of his textbooks into a backpack.

He stopped his shuffling and glanced up with a half-grin that crinkled the corner of his eye. “Right,” he said and let out a little laugh. “I’m Tony, by the way,” he offered a hand for her to shake. “Tony Stark.”

“That’s nice,” she replied and took her hand back. “Can we please go?”

“Sure,” he shook his head and heaved his bag up onto his shoulder. “Sorry, again.”

She let him go first before she set her security system and turned off the lights. She pulled the door shut behind her and jumped up to grab the gate to pull it all the way down and secured the lock.

“So, do you usually close up by yourself?” Tony asked, jolting her with surprise as she realized he was still there.

“What?” she asked, no longer bothering to hide her irritation. “No,” she answered his question. “I mean, sometimes, I guess. What are you doing?”

“I’m walking to the subway,” he said of the way he’d fallen into step beside her. “Is that okay? I mean, I guess if you’re gonna be this tense, I can walk ten paces behind you or...”

“No,” she waved the idea away. “Jesus, it’s fine. I’m just—”

“Yeah, you’re tired and I kept you from closing, I know,” he finished for her. “I’m sorry.”

They walked a few feet in silence before Raina let herself feel a little guilty for snapping. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep in her shop, after all. He hadn’t done it on purpose. And it wasn’t his fault she’d had such a bad day. She cleared her throat. “Y’know, statistically, cramming for an exam doesn’t do any more good than winging it.”

Tony looked up and hitched his backpack higher up on his shoulder. “Yeah…I heard that,” he frowned. “Let me guess, you’re probably one of those people who studies a little bit every night, right? Then does like, fifteen minutes of reading before a test and aces it?”

Despite her aching feet and short fuse, Raina laughed. “No,” she admitted. “I wasn’t much for studying.”

He glanced sideways, eyebrows raised. “Past tense?”

She shrugged. “Don’t need to go to college to do what I’ve been doing my whole life.”

“Relocating vagrants?”

Raina rolled her eyes. “Running a bakery.”

He blinked in surprise. “Running?” he repeated. “Like—running running? As in that’s _your_ place I was napping in?”

“Yep, my place,” Raina nodded. “My recipes, my equipment,” she gave him a side-eye. “My table you drooled all over.”

“Hey,” he looked dangerously close to pouting. “I wasn’t drooling.”

“Mmm,” she nodded with a half-smile. “So, what’s NuApp 504?” There was something about him that made her want to keep talking—despite the ache in her feet and the familiar twinge in her lower back that would have suggested she take a cab and leave him on the sidewalk.

He looked up, seeming surprised by the question. “Huh?”

Raina motioned to his backpack and the books he’d stuffed inside. “Your books. They all had that written on them. What is it?”

“Oh, uh, Nuclear Applications: level 504.”

She glanced over. “Isn’t that grad-level?”

“Awful lot of shock for someone I just met,” Tony commented mildly.

Raina laughed easily. “Sorry, you just seem kind of young for grad school.”

“Well, I am. Kind of a boy-genius.”

“Reeeeally,” she drew out the word, having difficulty believing that she’d just heard someone refer to themselves as a ‘boy-genius’.

“What about you?” he countered. “You seem kind of young to be the owner of your own brick-and-mortar business.”

“I am,” she echoed as the entrance to the subway came into view just up ahead. “But not a genius. Just a good baker. And I’m twenty-two, before you ask.”

“Hey, me too,” he said, with almost as much excitement as she would have expected from a teenager.

“So, we’re both puppies,” she assessed with another shrug. “Where’s that subway going to take you?”

“Oh, the uh,” he coughed. “Just up to the East Side.”

She offered another side eye. “Of Manhattan?”

He moved his shoulder, trying to appear careless. “Yeah.”

“Jesus Christ,” she scoffed. “What are you doing all the way out here, Richie Rich? You get lost or something?”

“You’re the only place in the city that knows what a chocolate raspberry tart is supposed to taste like,” he said as if it were obvious. “But you should really be advertising,” he added thoughtfully. “More people need to know about this.”

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “No thanks,” she said simply. “I like my little hole-in-the-wall as is. I’m not looking to build an empire.”

Her response took him off guard. “Well yeah,” he rolled a shoulder again. “But I mean, more business would mean you could hire other people,” he reminded, as if she’d never thought about this. “You wouldn’t have to work so much.”

Raina laughed again. “I like working,” she assured him. “And I don’t know how good of a boss I’d be. My sister helps me during the busy season. And my mom sometimes.” She shrugged again. “That’s enough.”

He was looking at her like she’d grown another head. “And making more money is…bad?” He smirked. "I didn't even think they made hippies anymore."

"Well, maybe you would if you went slumming more often."

He scoffed before he nodded slowly, absorbing what she'd just tossed at him. "So money is bad," he repeated. "Got it." 

She nodded. “More than you need? Yeah. It’s gross,” she said bluntly before she caught herself. “Sorry,” she was quick to apologize. “I’m sure you’re not gross.”

Tony laughed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “You, uh, really know how to make a guy feel special.”

Raina stopped walking and turned to look at him straight on. “I didn’t realize that’s what I was supposed to be doing.”

His mouth opened and closed twice before he finally shook his head and smiled again. “You’re, uh, really…” he let his mouth close again before he settled on, “something.”

It was her turn to smile. “And you’re, uh, really… eloquent,” she gave his chest a tap that was much too familiar for people who’d just met before she pointed to the open mouth of the subway entrance. “This is your stop, boy-genius.”

“Right.”

She took the moment he looked toward it as an excuse to take a step back and away from the strange pull she was feeling toward him. “See ya later,” she said with a wiggle of her fingers as she backed up further, a few feet away from him now.

“Yeah,” he said and mirrored her wave. “See ya…” She was just about to turn away when she saw his lips fall into a frown. “Hey,” he called after her. “You never told me your name!”

“That’s right,” she called back, a bright smile on her face. “I didn’t.”

She’d turned back around when she heard him call again. “Is that just so I’ll have a reason to come back to your shop?” She snorted a laugh as he continued. “Cause, y’know, I was going to do that anyway—”

“Goodnight, Tony Stark!” she yelled back around another laugh. “Don’t miss your train.”

 

She wasn’t surprised when he showed up the next night. Or the night after.

 


	2. 1993

_1993_

 

She was in the back when she heard the bell above the door chime. Raina moved from the prep-table toward the front of the shop, only managing to make it halfway before her foot caught on a bright blue backpack strap and she crashed her shin into the side of the bread rack.

“Ow!” she exclaimed. “Goddammit,” she muttered and bent to rub at her leg where she would most definitely have a bruise later. “Darcy Elise!” she called back into the kitchen. In an instant, the messy dark hair and bright blue eyes of her daughter appeared around the corner. Raina pointed, unimpressed, to the bag. “What is this doing here?”

Darcy grimaced and scurried out to pick it up. “Sorry Mama,” she said quietly.

Vaguely, Raina remembered she came up here to help a customer, but she kept her attention on her child for a moment longer. She reached out and pushed Darcy’s hair off her forehead. “And if you're going to work with me,” she reminded gently, “what are you missing?”

The seven-year-old’s shoulders slumped. “My bandana?”

“Yes ma’am,” she nodded. “Hair up—no exceptions. It’s on my desk,” she answered before Darcy could open her mouth to ask.

Once Darcy had disappeared, backpack in tow, into the back, Raina turned back to the cashier, expecting to find her only customer waiting at eye-level. She stopped in surprise when she realized that it was a child that awaited her attention. A boy who looked to be about ten or eleven, stocky with a shaggy brown bowl-cut and silvery blue eyes.

“Uh, hi ma’am,” he said, and face was pinched around the eyes and mouth, as if he was forcing himself to be patient and polite. “I, uh,” he looked down and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Raina felt her own expression open to one she knew was more welcoming, less expectant. “You okay, honey?” she asked, noticing the concern he carried with him. He looked too young to be so worried.

“Yeah,” he nodded quickly and reached into his pockets. “Um, how much is,” he frowned and withdrew a handful of nickels and quarters. “Is this enough to buy some ice?”

“Ice?” she repeated, uncertainly. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. “It’s not for me,” he said and sighed. “It’s for my friend,” he tossed a glance over his shoulder toward the windows where Raina saw, for the first time, another boy was waiting. This one didn’t look much bigger than Darcy, with scrawny limbs, clothes that were much too big, the beginnings of a black eye and a split lip.

“Oh my God,” she exclaimed.

“Don’t feel too bad for him,” the boy in front of her muttered. “Idiot picks fights with all the biggest kids in the yard.” He rolled his eyes. “Gets his ass kicked at least once a week.”

Smothering a smile at the world-weariness of this child, Raina nodded. “Tell him to come in,” she insisted. “Ice just happens to be free this week.” When she’d turned back to grab a bowl and towel, Darcy had appeared once again.

“What’s going on?”

Raina reached over her for a small bowl from the nearest shelf. “Fill this with ice please,” she said and pointed to the table where the boys were sitting down. “And get him a towel for his lip while I go get the first aid kit.”

Darcy glanced at the two newcomers and frowned. “What happened to him?”

Raina pointed to the ice machine. “What I asked, please.”

By the time she retrieved the white metal box from under the counter, Darcy had arrived at their table with a bowl of ice and one of the white towels from that morning’s laundry delivery. She didn’t bother hiding her grimace as she carefully put a few cubes on the cloth and wrapped it like a pack. “Jeez,” she said. “That looks really bad.”

“Darcy,” Raina warned lightly as Darcy ignored her and pressed the towel to the smaller boy’s split and bleeding lip.

“Seriously,” she continued. “Who hit you? The Incredible Hulk?”

“Darcy,” Raina’s second warning was more firm and came with a glare that at least caused her daughter a moment of contrition.

“Ryan Heller,” the older boy answered with another sigh. “Because this jackass told him to stop throwing rocks at the pigeons.”

Raina felt her heart soften as the blond took the ice pack from Darcy and moved it from his lip to his eye.

“Well that was nice of you,” Darcy said diplomatically. “People who are mean to animals are usually serial killers.”

“Ah, Christ,” the older of the two rolled his eyes. “Don’t encourage him.”

Raina had to fight another laugh as she forced her face to remain reproachful. “Darcy, that’s not true.”

“It is so!” she exclaimed. “I saw a _60 Minutes_ on it last time Jane and I stayed with Grams.”

“Even if he’s not a serial killer,” the smaller boy said, peering at them from beneath a chunk of silky blonde hair that fell into his good eye when he looked up. “He’s a real asshole. The pigeons were just today’s target.”

Darcy offered him another smile when he looked in her direction. “I’m sure the pigeons would say thank you if they could.”

Raina dropped some peroxide on a cotton ball and knelt in front of his chair. “This is going to sting, honey,” she assured him when he moved the towel enough to give her access to the scrape on his chin. To his credit, he didn’t even wince when she pressed it to his skin. She still blew on it out of instinct when she pulled away and reached for the antiseptic ointment. “I’m afraid I can’t do too much for the rest,” she said, once she’d had a chance to examine his lip and his black eye. “But I think you’re gonna live, Rocky.”

He smiled weakly. “Thanks.”

“Come on, punk,” his companion said and clapped a hand to his shoulder. “Father Marcus’ gonna lose it.”

Raina’s eyebrows lifted. “Father Marcus? You boys going to church after this?”

They both shook their heads. “No ma’am,” the younger one said. “We live at Saint John’s,” he pointed over his shoulder in the direction of the all-boys group home and school in Dyker Heights.

Her heart twisted again. She’d only heard a few things about Saint John's. Mostly that it was under-funded and where the diocese sent the boys who weren’t adopted before the age of three. She’d known a few of its students when she was in high school and—if the ragged state of the two boys in front of her was any indication—it didn’t seem to have made any great strides in the last fifteen years. Raina frowned thoughtfully and glanced around for a moment before an idea struck her and she got up to retrieve two of her business cards. “If Father Marcus gives you any trouble about standing up for some pigeons,” she said seriously, “tell him to call me and I’ll set him straight.”

 The two boys shared a glance as they took her cards hesitantly. “She means it, too,” Darcy piped up. “She’s really good at yelling at people.”

Raina rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Darce.”

“You are!” she insisted. “And we should give them some cookies,” she said with authority and darted back behind the case before anyone could protest. She returned in a few moments with a white paper bag. “These are chocolate chips and peanut butter,” she said and offered it to the dark-haired caretaker of the duo. “I mixed the batter yesterday and my mom baked them this morning.” She paused and smiled shyly. “They’re really good. You guys should eat them all before you get home, so no one makes you share.”

Raina rolled her eyes and placed a hand on Darcy’s shoulders, drawing her back. “That’s enough,” she said quietly before she raised her eyes again. “Are you going to be okay to get home?”

“Yeah,” her initial customer said with an easy nod. “Thanks for all this,” he said with an uncomfortable shuffle of his feet. “I can, uh,” he reached into his pocket and rattled the change around. “I can pay for the cookies.”

“Of course,” Raina said before Darcy could protest. She moved around to get back behind the cash register and let her fingers dance over the buttons before a total appeared on the screen. “Fifty cents, please.”

He studied her for a long moment, looking torn between calling her out and accepting the offer before he finally retrieved two dull quarters from his pocket and held them out to her. She let him drop them in her palm and smiled. “Pleasure doing business with you, sir,” she said like she did with every customer. “You boys get home safely please. No more fighting today.”

Darcy squirmed impatiently but waited until they had ambled out the door before she turned back to her mother. “Mama, why did you make him pay? I wanted to give them those for free.”

“I didn’t _make_ him pay, Cherry Pie,” Raina said gently. “I _let_ him pay. He wasn’t asking for any charity from us.”

Her daughter frowned thoughtfully. “Do you think they’ll come back?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Maybe. But there are a lot of other bakeries closer to where they live. I don’t think they’d come all the way back here.”

She watched Darcy’s full lips twist into a half-smile. “I don’t know, Mama. Those cookies I gave them are really good.”

Raina laughed and wrapped her arms around her girl, dropping her head to kiss the top of Darcy’s hair. “If they come back in, you can wait on them, okay?”

Darcy looked up with a grin. “Deal.”


	3. 2009

_2009_

 

She had just finished entering the last of the inventory figures on the spreadsheet when Laura knocked on the door of her office.

Raina turned around and smiled, pushing her glasses up where they belonged. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Laura echoed. “All the prep is done for tomorrow and Mina just finished cleaning.”

“Wow,” Raina said before she glanced at her watch, shocked that it was fifteen minutes until closing time. “Oh, wow—it’s way later than I thought.”

Laura smiled. “Figured I’d come back and make sure you weren’t planning on sleeping here. Again,” she added with a pointed look.

Raina rolled her eyes as she got to her feet and stretched her arms overhead. Her joints were creaking and popping a lot more these days, much to her dismay. “My God,” she muttered. “You fall asleep at your desk one—”

“Three times,” Laura interjected.

“ _However_ many times,” Raina continued. “And no one ever wants to let you live it down.” She ushered her baker from the doorway and closed the office behind them both. “Is Mina still here?”

Laura shook her head. “I sent her home. I can handle any stragglers we get.”

She checked her watch again. “What time did Ben’s game start?”

Laura frowned and checked the time herself. “I don’t know. Twenty, thirty minutes ago?”

“If you leave now, you’d still catch at least half of it,” Raina reminded.

“I don’t want to make you close up by yourself,” Laura countered immediately. “It’s fine. Chris is there—”

But Raina waved her away. “Go watch your kid play,” she insisted. “I’m fine here.”

Laura bit her lip. “You’re sure?“

“Positive,” she said firmly and gave her employee a gentle push toward the door for emphasis. “Have a good night.”

“Oh,” Laura stopped at the door and turned back. “You have an interview for a barista on Tuesday. Nine AM.”

“Who is it?”

“Her name is Alicia—if you want to look at her resume, it’s the one that’s spelled funny?” her shoulders bounced. “She’s cute. I think you’ll like her.” Before she could turn the knob, a coughing fit seized her friend and Laura grimaced, watching as she bent over, holding one fist to her mouth and a palm to her chest. “Rain, that cough is getting worse,” she warned, her brows dipped together in concern. “I thought you said you were seeing someone about it.”

Raina waved her off. “It’s just allergies,” she repeated the same thing she’d said to Darcy the last time she’d called. “They gave me an inhaler—it’ll clear up in a few weeks.”

Her baker did not look convinced. “Okay, but if it doesn’t…”

“Yeah, yeah,” she fluffed away the concern. “I’ll go blow into a tube or something. Get a prescription for a $700 bottle of cough syrup.”

“That’s all we ask, boss,” Laura sighed and was on her way a few minutes later, leaving Raina by herself in the shop for the first time in days. She did another needless wipe of the counters and double checked that the floors had been swept and mopped thoroughly and was just considering boxing up her day-olds and closing early when the bell above the door chimed and a wailing stroller was pushed inside.

The urge to wish this shrieking baby away faded as soon as Raina straightened and caught sight of the woman behind the stroller. She was young—no older than her mid-twenties, she decided—with dark brown hair and eyes and a look so harried and apologetic and achingly familiar that Raina could feel nothing but sympathy as she waved her inside.

“You’re not closed yet, are you?” she asked, raising her voice over the wails of the stroller. “I’m sorry,” she continued, surprising Raina with the realization that she had a British accent. “I promise I’ll be quick.”

“Of course,” she said quickly. “What can I get you?”

The young mother’s eyes fell to the display case and before she could answer, the baby let out another shriek that Raina could practically feel in her teeth. She watched the woman shut her eyes and take a long, deep breath before she popped the brake on the stroller and stopped the aimless rocking she’d been doing. “Charlotte, _please_ ,” she said, an edge of desperation in her voice. She tried ordering a second time before she stopped. “Never mind,” she said and ran her hands over her face. “I should just get her home.”

“I really don’t mind,” Raina assured her. “Honest.”

“No,” the woman shook her head as her shoulders dropped in a defeated slump. “I just realized that I forgot my—” To Raina’s dismay, her eyes welled with tears and her face crumpled.

“Oh, honey,” she heard herself say as she reached blindly for a napkin. “It’s okay,” she promised and raced around the counter to turn her sign and lock the door, not wanting anyone else to walk in and interrupt this poor girl’s breakdown. She pulled out a chair and beckoned for her last customer to sit down. Wordlessly and with two fat tears streaking down her cheeks, she sat, pulling the stroller along with her. “Hang on, just a second,” Raina said before she returned with a glass of water and a fresh stack of napkins.

“I’m sorry,” the younger woman repeated, blotting at her face around another sob. “This is so unlike me I don’t—”

“You’re fine,” Raina told her and chanced a look at the bundle of agitation still screaming in her stroller. “Would you mind if I—”

The other woman looked apprehensive for a moment before she nodded, hesitantly. Raina leaned down and unbuckled the baby, lifting her up gently. The muscle-memory of all the times she’d held her own baby returned without effort and she crossed the pair of tiny arms over her little torso and held her to her shoulder, noting that at the very least, she didn’t appear to need changing.

“Shhh,” she soothed, holding her lips close to the baby’s downy blonde hair. “It’s okay, baby girl,” she said quietly. “We all have bad days. Let it out. Tell me all about it, let’s just give Mom a break for a second.” Despite her encouragement to keep crying—or perhaps in spite of it—the wailing subsided after only another minute. She didn’t dare pull away to check if this was going to last, but rocked her gently as she turned back to the baby’s mother who—to her great relief—had also stopped crying.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, swiping under her eyes with a damp napkin. “You must think I’m absolutely useless—”

“Of course not,” Raina promised. “Take as long as you need.”

“I just…” she took a shaky breath before everything came out in a rush. “I just wanted to get out of the house for a little bit. And then I realized I haven’t eaten since yesterday and I thought I’d just stop in but I forgot my wallet because I don’t know what I’m doing and I don’t even remember that I’m hungry half the time because she’s _always_ crying and I love her _so_ _much_ but I’m just…” she faltered. “I’m just _so tired_ —” her brown eyes filled with tears a second time and Raina felt her heart break in sympathy again. With one hand blotting at her face, the woman reached a hand tiredly toward her daughter. “You don’t have to keep holding her,” she said weakly. “I can—”

“We’re fine,” Raina insisted. “You just sit and relax for a minute. I’ll be right back.” Keeping the baby balanced on her shoulder in a move that she’d had to master a few decades ago, Raina popped a tea bag in a cup and dispensed some hot water over it. She dropped a lemon wedge to the side on the saucer and tucked a bottle of honey into her apron pocket. She scooched the teacup to one side of the plate and grabbed the tongs to drop a strawberry rhubarb tart on to the other side so she could carry both to the table one-handed.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” her guest said softly. “Thank you so much.”

She set the bottle of honey out and carefully sank into the other chair at the table. “Don’t even think on it,” she said, grateful that their change in position had only drawn a few fussy noises from the tiny girl in her arms. “I think I cried every day until my daughter was three years old.” She smiled when the other woman looked up. “I’m Raina, by the way.”

“Peggy,” she pointed to herself. “And I think you're saving my life right now.”

She smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Peggy,” she glanced again at the infant. “You said her name is Charlotte?”

Peggy nodded. “She’s only six weeks old,” she admitted. “And everyone keeps telling me that I should…” she trailed off, momentarily flustered as she squeezed the lemon wedge over her tea.

“Cherish every moment?” Raina finished for her, a single eyebrow raised.

“Yes!”

“Those people are assholes,” she informed her plainly, pleased when her comment was met with a weak, wet laugh. “Seriously,” she continued. “Of course, you’re going to cherish spending time with your baby—but someone telling you that you should treat every difficult, exhausting moment like it’s a gift from God is just going to make you feel guilty.” She rubbed a few comforting circles against Charlotte’s back. “I’m sure you’re a wonderful mother,” she added encouragingly. “And this little peanut is lucky to have you.”

“Well, thank you for saying so,” Peggy said with another sniffle, dabbing once more at her eyes that had finally dried. “But I really have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Oh, sweetheart, nobody does,” she promised with a wave of her hand. “I was twenty-two when I had my daughter,” she added. “I was the textbook definition of a mess her entire childhood.”

“You were?”

“Oh yeah,” she nodded with a rueful grin. “We were a train wreck—I was pretty sure every move I made was going to send her to therapy for the rest of her life or she’d end up in jail or run off to marry some vigilante with a motorcycle when she was seventeen but…” she shrugged. “Despite my best efforts, she turned out perfectly normal.”

Peggy glanced around the bakery. “Does she work here, with you?”

Raina shook her head. “No, she lives in Paris now. Making macarons for someone named Jean Luc and reminding me every time I talk to her that she loves it there and never wants to come home.”

To her surprise, Peggy picked up on the little hint of sadness that had crept into her voice and it was her turn to smile sympathetically. “I’m sure she’ll come home eventually.”

Raina smiled back. “I certainly hope so,” she admitted. “This has been a family business for fifty-years. If she won’t take over for me my only other option is to live forever.”

Peggy laughed. “And you raised her all by yourself?” She sighed when Raina nodded. “God, I can’t even imagine doing this alone,” she admitted.

“And your husband,” she asked delicately. “Does he…know how exhausted you are?”

Peggy nodded as she took a large bite of her strawberry tart. “He’s wonderful,” she said thickly before she stopped and blushed. “Sorry,” she said, her mouth full.

Raina laughed. “Don’t be. Eat up. Tell me about Mr. Wonderful.”

Peggy chewed and swallowed, her cheeks still pink. “He really is,” she insisted. “He’s so good about getting up with her when he’s home but he’s—” she paused and let her shoulders drop. “We’re both with the fire department. And I’m on maternity leave right now, but he’s—”

“Ah,” she nodded with understanding. “He’s still 48-on/48-off?” Peggy mirrored her nod. “Well that makes it hard.”

“And when I go back to work, we’re going to have to work opposite shifts and I’m not sure—”

Raina leaned over the table and place a hand on Peggy’s arm. “Don’t try and solve all those problems right now, honey,” she said, hoping to head off another round of frustrated tears. “You’ll figure it out.”

Peggy finished her tart and her tea and only protested for a moment when Raina began packing a box of tarts and hand-pies for her to take home. To the their combined relief, Charlotte did not start crying again when she was set back in her stroller. Peggy set the box of pastries in the bottom basket and straightened up. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “Thank you so much—”

Raina waved her away. “You just needed a minute,” she reminded her. “Just go home, give Mr. Wonderful a kiss when he comes home and tell him you need an afternoon off before he goes back to work again.” She leaned in to the stroller and let Charlotte grab hold of her finger in a tiny fist. “And you, peanut,” she said with a soft smile. “Go easy on your mum, okay?”

Peggy looked considerably better as she headed out into the fading sunlight and Raina let herself feel a little warm bubble of satisfaction at having played a hand in that as she resumed her closing duties.

 _She’s my cherry pie,_ Warrant’s one-hit wonder crooned from her phone, accompanied by a familiar power chord. _Put a smile on your face ten miles wide/looks so good bring a tear to your eye,_ she hurried back into her office to swipe it from the desk, unable to help her smile at the sight of her daughter’s name and photo on the screen _._

She unlocked the phone before the chorus could play again.

 _Bonjour, Mama,_ Darcy had written with a little smiley face. _I’m about to go to pass out, but I have tomorrow morning off if you want to have a phone date._

Raina swallowed back the memories that holding Charlotte had stirred within her—the feeling of Darcy wrapped tightly against her so she could still have both hands free in the kitchen, the memory of sleeping on the floor beside her crib when she was sick, one hand through the bars because Darcy would scream if she couldn’t grab onto her fingers and she was too exhausted to pick her up anymore, of all the times she could look across the prep table and see that mess of curls and blue eyes reading recipe books or kneading dough.

She blinked back her rush of sentiment and texted back. _Sounds great. Text me when you’re up—I’ll call you._

It was another minute before she got a response.

_Love you Mama. Miss you._

Raina smiled down at her phone.

_Love you too, Cherry Pie. Sweet dreams_

_  
_

 


	4. 2013

_2013_

She heard the keys in the door. Heard Jane struggle to shove it open. “Darcy?” she heard her call uncertainly. “Are you…” From her seat in the corner of the shop, farthest from the door, Darcy could tell exactly when Jane noticed them. “What the hell...” she asked softly before she cleared her throat and called again. “Darcy?”

“I’m here,” she spoke up from her corner with a half-hearted wave.

Jane made her way across the bakery, stepping carefully over the countless envelopes and pieces of paper that littered the dining room floor. They were in all shapes and sizes; a rainbow of colored squares and rectangles scattered in a mess that was most dense at the door but had made its way slowly across the room. “What the hell is all this?” she asked as she pulled off her hat and dropped her snow-covered coat and purse onto the closest chair. “Have you been here all day? Your phone’s off; my mom’s been worried sick.”

“Sorry,” Darcy shrugged, not feeling sorry at all. Her phone had been attached to her ear non-stop since the funeral. She didn’t want to talk to anyone anymore—couldn’t stand the idea of it lighting up again with yet another lawyer or real estate agent or even family member checking in. “I didn’t mean to be here so long but…” she trailed off and let her eyes drop to the pile of envelopes in front of her.

“What is this?” Jane asked a second time before she reached down and picked up a bright blue envelope from the ground. She slid a nail under the seal and, without waiting for permission, opened it and removed the small card inside. “ _Dear Queen of Tarts,”_ she read aloud, almost under her breath. _“Thank you for giving me and my brothers a safe space to go when our parents were fighting—I’ll never forget you or your beautiful spirit. Namaste, Claire, Reuben and Joel.”_ Jane looked up, a line creased between her brows.

Darcy shrugged and held up the letter she’d just opened. “ _Dear Queen of Tarts,_ _you don’t remember me, but I’ll never forget you. You baked the cake for my wedding in 1991 and were the only bakery in the city who let us pay in installments of $10 a week. We think of you every anniversary. Love, Mae and Ben.”_ She set the paper down and pursed her lips. “People must have been leaving them since Thursday?” she guessed, when the paper had run an article, memorializing Raina while the shop had closed for the first time in twenty-six years.

The last time had been the week that Darcy was born.

This time it had been two weeks that the bakery had sat dark and empty. And at some point—maybe when the article had run, maybe earlier, Darcy couldn’t tell—people had started leaving these letters, cards, postcards, and folded paper notes in the mail slot. They’d spilled from the rubber mat all across the floor as more and more were dropped off. When Darcy had finally decided to stop in that afternoon, she could barely get the door open.

Jane looked around, awestruck. “There’s got to be a thousand envelopes here,” she said softly. Darcy nodded wordlessly. Her cousin reached for another one from her pile. “ _Dear Queen of Tarts, no place in the city ever made me feel as welcome as you did. I hope you know how much that meant to me—and to so many others. Love always, Q.”_ She looked up, concerned. “Have you just been sitting here reading these all afternoon?”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t my plan.”

“Darcy,” Jane sighed and reached across the table. “I would have gone through them with you. Hell, Grams and Pop? My parents? I’m sure everyone will happily go through these with you.”

“I know,” Darcy insisted, already resenting the lump that rose in her throat. “I know that. I didn’t _mean_ to stay here all day it’s just…” she felt Jane’s fingers tighten around hers. “I mean, look at this,” she said with a wet, weak laugh and motioned to the mess. “This is thirty years of every person she ever helped, every birthday or wedding or bat mitzvah she made better, every goddamn cupcake she gave away for free because some scrawny kid looked like he could use a hug, I mean—” she trailed off as her vision swam again. “What do I do with all this?”

Jane’s eyes had grown dangerously glassy. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Darcy struggled for the words around the tightness of her throat. “I mean—every envelope I open is just another reminder that I’m _not her_ , Jane. I’m not…” she felt her face crumple and Jane’s hand squeeze tighter. “I’m not magic like she was,” she didn’t bother wiping at the tears that slid down her cheeks. The skin beneath her eyes had been rubbed raw from all the times she’d tried to stop crying. “She left me this…” she choked on a sob that was fighting its way up from her chest. “This beautiful _mess_ of a legacy and I don’t know what to do with it.”

Jane got up and squeezed into the corner with her and looped their arms, pulling Darcy in to rest her head on her shoulder. “She left it for you to do whatever you want with it, Darce,” Jane reminded gently, once the worst of the urge to sob had passed. “You don’t _have_ to stay in business.” Darcy scoffed and rolled her eyes, prompting her cousin to continue. “No, I’m serious. Mom and Grams aren’t going to tell you this because they don’t want you to think that they don’t think you can do it—they _do_ ,” she assured her ardently. “We all _know_ you can run this bakery just as well as she did—probably better, because you don’t have her weird allergy to making money.” Despite herself, Darcy smiled. “But you don’t _have_ to if you don’t want to. The will and the business plans and all that all say the same thing—that you’re the majority owner and you have final say on whatever happens to this place. That’s all. You can sell it—you can franchise it—you can do whatever you want.”

“I can’t sell it,” Darcy admitted and cast her eyes downward again as she pulled herself back to sit upright. “I’ve already had offers,” she glanced with derision at the stack of papers on the next table over. The one with insensitive verbiage and the promise of disgusting amounts of money for the air space above the bakery, or the offers from local chains to buy the property, the equipment, and all of Raina’s recipes. “But my God…” she sighed. “What am I supposed to do? Let them turn it into a Starbucks or knock it down all together?” She looked around the small storefront and felt her lips drop again with the sadness that idea welled in her chest. “This was…”

“Home,” Jane finished, quietly.

“Yeah.”

They were quiet for another long, contemplative moment as they stared at the piles of cards and letters. After what felt like a long time, Jane cleared her throat. “My mom found something this morning,” she said around a quick sniffle as she reached for her purse. “At Gram and Pop’s.” She rummaged for a minute before her hand emerged with a black and white 5x7 photograph.

Darcy’s breath caught in her throat as she took the photo from Jane. “When did…”

“I think my dad must have taken it,” Jane said softly, leaning her chin on the heel of her hand. “He went through that whole photography phase for awhile where he was only shooting black and whites on that super old camera that broke like, every other week.” She nodded toward the photo. “This was in the last batch he got developed.”

She was maybe five or six in the photo in her hand. Sitting in front of Raina behind the mixer wearing matching frilly, impractical aprons, with her mother’s hands over hers, guiding a measuring cup of chocolate chips into the batter. They were both laughing, dusted with flour, and preserved so perfectly in this moment that Darcy could almost hear the whirl of the mixer again, the gentle presence of Raina’s voice in her ear, instructing around her soft, ever-present laugh.

Jane stretched out a finger and tapped the photo. “That’s her legacy, Darce,” she said before she motioned to the room again. “All this?” she looked up with a soft, sad smile. “Just a product of that.”

Darcy swallowed back another wave of emotion and sat back in her seat. She let out a heavy sigh and ran her hands over her face. “Oh my God, I’m exhausted,” she admitted as she let her head drop back and stared at the ceiling. She studied it for a moment, noticing for the first time that it needed to be painted. When she looked back again, Jane’s thumbs were flying over her phone. “What are you doing?”

“I’m texting Thor,” she said, her brows dipped together before she glanced up. “He’s bringing pizza and bourbon.”

“He’s a god among men.”

“We’re going to eat, drink, and get all these letters together to take back to my parents’ place. Where we can read them all together.”

Darcy looped their arms again and closed her eyes to lean her temple on Jane’s narrow shoulder. “I love you.”

Her cousin stopped her texting and turned to kiss the top of Darcy’s head. “I love you, too.”


	5. 2021

_2021_

 

Tony looked up from his tablet at the sound of a throat clearing. He raised his eyes, surprised to find Charlotte standing in front of him looking expectant.

“Hi Nonno,” she said as she dropped into the chair across from him and let her bookbag hit the ground with a heavy thud.

“Hi Charlotte,” he echoed, watching curiously while she unloaded two textbooks and a laptop from her bag and set them on the table. “How was school?”

“Stressful,” she said with a sigh that even Tony thought was a little dramatic for a twelve-year-old. “I need help with my homework.” Without waiting for an invitation, Charlotte threw open her books and started flipping the pages.

Tony frowned. “And that’s my job?” he asked skeptically. He looked up and caught Darcy’s eyes above the espresso machine. “Hey, your kid needs help with her homework.”

“I know,” Darcy called over the screech of the steaming wand. “I sent her to you.”

“It’s physics,” Charlotte informed him with a deep frown. “Darcy said you’d be the best person to ask for help.”

Tony sighed and shook his head. “Alright,” he set his tablet aside and beckoned for her to join him on his side of the table. “Let’s see what we’re looking at.” Charlotte had found the correct chapter just as Darcy arrived at their table with a shot of espresso in one hand and a mug of hot chocolate in the other.

“Fuel for the scientists,” she said, setting them on the table. As she leaned over, there was a sound of discontent from the tiny baby wrapped tightly against her chest. She glanced down and kissed the top of Lucy’s head.

Charlotte looked up with a grin at the sound of her sister. “Is she awake?” she asked eagerly, straining her neck to try to see for herself.

Darcy peered into the little cocoon the Moby wrap made for Lucy to cuddle into and shook her head. “Not yet,” she said, not bothering to hide her relief.

Tony shook his head. “I don’t know how that’s possible,” he commented. “It’s not exactly peaceful in here.”

Charlotte frowned and turned her gaze back to Tony. “Didn’t _you_ used to fall asleep here, Nonno?”

Darcy smashed her lips together to smother a smile. “Yeah, Nonno,” she echoed as she gave him a light, teasing shove. “Didn’t you?”

Tony narrowed his eyes and turned his gaze from Darcy to Charlotte before he sighed again. “Talk to me about this homework.”

Darcy was still laughing to herself as she made her way back to the front counter in time to catch the attention of a woman perusing the cheesecakes. “Anything jumping out at you?”  she asked with a smile.

Her customer straightened and smiled. “Just about everything,” she admitted. “I haven’t been back to this neighborhood in almost ten years,” she said and shook her head. “I was scared you wouldn’t be here anymore.” The skin around her eyes crinkled as she tilted her head to one side and studied Darcy. “You’re not…” she frowned. “You aren’t the original owner… are you?”

Darcy smiled and shook her head. “No, that was my mother. I took over awhile ago.”

The guest accepted this with a nod and went about placing an order for a dozen orange chocolate macarons and a dozen chocolate raspberry tarts. She smiled as Darcy boxed up her treats and handed them over counter. “You didn’t used to be able to get macarons here, did you?”

“No,” she said, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear again. “And actually,” she glanced over to where Charlotte and Tony’s heads were bent together over her textbook. “My older daughter, over there, is the one who made this batch,” she pointed to the box she’d just packed and wrapped.

The woman looked surprised. “That little girl knows how to make macarons?”

Darcy grinned. “We start ‘em young here.”

“I guess so,” her guest declared, looking delighted as she finally noticed Lucy snoozing in her wrap. “How old is that baby?”

“Nine weeks,” she smiled. “But I’ll probably wait until she’s big enough to reach the counters before I put her to work.”

The woman was still laughing as Steve held the door open for her to go first before he stepped inside. “Hey handsome,” Darcy greeted, leaning as far as she dared over the counter for a kiss.

“Hey,” he smiled easily and kissed her a second time before he noticed the study group in the corner. “What’s Tony doing here?”

“Pretending he doesn’t love helping Charlotte with her homework,” she answered simply. “And jumping up _way_ too fast every time it looks like I might need someone to hold the baby.”

Steve’s smile widened. “Speaking of,” he said before coming around the counter at a half-jog. He untied the wrap from her back and carefully unwound the fabric until Lucy was free for Darcy to hand over.

“The carseat’s in the office,” she said, folding her wrap to tuck into her purse later. “How was your meeting?”

“Good,” Steve said, distracted by the kiss he pressed to Lucy’s forehead before he held her gently to his chest. “Really good. Their budget was approved for almost double their original offer so—”

“Hey, Dad,” Charlotte appeared at their side and automatically reached a hand up to stroke Lucy’s soft hair. “I don’t have to leave yet, do I?”

Steve shook his head and used his free hand to push her thick bangs out of her face affectionately. “No, you stay,” he insisted. “Keep your grandfather busy.”

“I can still hear you, Rogers,” Tony called from his corner. “And I _do_ have things I could be doing.”

“No, you don’t,” Darcy said, waving her hand in his direction before she turned back to Steve. “He’s literally been here all day.”

“I think it’s cute,” Charlotte decided. “He wants to hang out with us.” She looked back up at her father while the three of them moved out of the way so Wanda could approach the counter to greet a guest who’d just walked in. “Can we have stuffed shells for dinner?”

Steve made a face. “Possibly?” he guessed. “Actually, no. I don’t think we have shells. Can I interest you in a lasagna instead?”

Charlotte’s lips twisted in thought.  “I guess…it’s not the same, though. “

“Charlotte it’s the exact same ingredients, just wrapped around a different noodle,” Steve reminded. “Do me a favor and go get the car seat from the office?” She nodded and took off toward the back of the bakery. Steve gave Darcy a once-over as he shifted Lucy higher up on his shoulder. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Kinda wiped,” she admitted, feeling like that was a perfectly acceptable response to her second full week back at work since giving birth. “And pretty grateful for a hand-off.”

Steve smiled and leaned over to kiss her again. “Happy to help,” he said genuinely before Charlotte returned and set the car seat on the prep table. “Alright, cutie,” he said softly to the baby as he swung her down to settle her in the seat.

She grumbled and fussed while he pulled her arms through the straps and fastened the buckles. “We can’t keep calling her ‘cutie’,” Charlotte sighed. “That’s not a food.”

Darcy snorted and wrapped an arm around Charlotte, pulling her to lean back against her, pleased she hadn’t grown so tall yet that Darcy could no longer rest her chin atop her head. “I’m _certain_ someone will give her a food name before too long, Char,” she promised. “Oh, speaking of food,” she caught Steve’s attention. “I just fed her about half an hour ago, so she should be fine until I get home.”

He nodded and tightened the last of the car seat straps before he leaned over to drop a kiss first on Charlotte’s forehead and then on Darcy’s. He peered into the car seat where Lucy was squirming, looking to be debating whether to wake up entirely. “Say ‘bye Mom, bye big sis’,” he said to the baby before he looked up. “I’ll see you at home.”

Steve didn’t make it very far, unable to leave without letting Tony say goodbye to his other granddaughter. Darcy leaned her aching back against the prep table, keeping her arms around Charlotte while they watched Steve and Tony take turns cooing and making faces into the car seat, oblivious to their audience. She felt Charlotte giggle at the sight and felt her own heart melt the longer she stood there, all the best parts of her life contained for a moment within the four walls of the bakery.

“Darcy?” Charlotte asked, breaking her reverie.

“Mmm?”

“When can I _really_ start working here?”

She smiled as she let her go. “You mean when am I going to start paying you?”

Charlotte grinned. “Yeah. That’s what I mean.”

Darcy laughed. “When you’re sixteen, Peanut, that’s the rule.”

The almost-teenager sighed dramatically. “But I’m _already_ doing the macarons every week.”

“I know,” Darcy agreed as a ticket printed back, and she grabbed it and hung it on the rail. “And the only reason you’re allowed to do _that_ is because you’re my kid and this is a family business.” She pulled a shot of espresso and tamped it down with a practiced flick of her wrist. “But I am _not_ putting you on the schedule until you’re at least sixteen.”

Charlotte frowned. “Why not?”

“Because,” Darcy said, sliding a to-go cup under the portafilter. “You’ll be old enough to work anywhere you want then.” She bent to get the milk, surprised to find that Charlotte had already poured enough for a latte in the pitcher and held it out to her.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Charlotte decided, putting away the milk.

“I don’t want you to work here out of a lack of choice,” Darcy clarified. “When you’re sixteen, if you really don’t want to work anywhere else then yes, of course, you can work here part-time after school.” She spun the dial on the steamer and frothed the milk to an acceptable level of foam. “That’s my final offer.” She finished the drink and called out the name on the ticket.

Charlotte was looking thoughtful as the customer left with his latte. “I’m not going to want to work anywhere else,” she said with confidence. “I love it here.”

Darcy smiled and reached out to pull Charlotte in for another squeeze. “I love it here, too,” she said quietly against her hair before the bell above the door jingled and she was needed up front again.

 

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Did I make myself sad while writing this? Yes. Yes I did.  
> Am I sorry? No, not really.  
> Would I desperately love to know what you thought? Absolutely I would. 
> 
> *kisses*


End file.
